


Puppy Love

by GlowingMechanicalHeart



Series: The Sansa Stark Chronicles [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Do forgive me, F/M, Modern Westeros, affectionate nicknames, it's kind of terrible humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 17:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18254468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowingMechanicalHeart/pseuds/GlowingMechanicalHeart
Summary: Until that fateful Sunday.“Puppy!” Sansa’s cheerful voice called out from the kitchen. “Puppy love, the waffles are ready, come on now before they get cold. I made bacon too, so hurry up!”What Sansa could not have known, is that he had frozen at the name. Only when the was standing at the entry of the kitchen did he reacted, “Little Bird, what in the seven bloody hells, did you just call me?”





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thecatthewall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thecatthewall/gifts).



> This was based on a tumblr post, it was: Sansan in an established relationship and her nickname for him is Puppy. He doesnt mind as long as she swears to never say it in front of his men and or friends. Well it slips out…

It happened one lazy Sunday morning. Sandor didn't know it yet, but he would come to rue and regret allowing that pet name to stand.

He knew that Sansa was a major history nerd, she loved everything about it, so he thought little of showing him his family sigil, admittedly, it wasn't as old or as noble as hers. But there was pride on his side at the knowledge that his house was founded by saving a life. The three hounds in a yellow field standard may not be as old as the direwolf one, but, he liked it anyways.

Sansa had liked it too. She had thought it was a noble beginning and that he had nothing to be ashamed of.

That had been that and they had moved on. Until that fateful Sunday.

"Puppy!" Sansa's cheerful voice called out from the kitchen. "Puppy love, the waffles are ready, come on now before they get cold. I made bacon too, so hurry up!"

What Sansa could not have known, is that he had frozen at the name. Only when the was standing at the entry of the kitchen did he reacted, "What in the seven bloody hells did you just call me?"

Sansa, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil, simply beamed at him and said, "Why! I called you 'Puppy', I think it suits you. Well, I know your friends and some co-workers call you 'Hound', but that's too impersonal for me to do so. So, I named you Puppy!"

He sat down, more confused than anything. He had never had an affectionate nickname, sure, Hound was also because of his sigil and because his friends said that he could smell trouble or anything wrong in a place or person faster than anyone, but this? This was completely new and unfamiliar territory.

And much to his surprise, he found that he did not hated the name.

Sansa didn't have a malicious bone in body, she was far too kind to intentionally go out of her way to hurt anybody. So he just sat down on the table, grabbed a plate of waffles, added some bacon and told her, "Ok, that's fine. Just please, don't call me that in front of my co-workers or hells forbid, Jaime fucking Lannister."

Sansa kissed his cheek, "I won't. Now eat your breakfast."

And that had been it. The nickname stuck. Some days it was, "Puppy this, Puppy that," and he just didn't care. If he had to be honest with himself, he had to admit that it was nice; he'd always been mostly a loner, the few relationships he had, had not been long ones nor filled with the affection that Sansa gave so freely.

Some days it was as simple as "I love you Puppy," before going to sleep or waking up. Other days it was "Puppy, can you reach for that bowl for me, thank you." Some days she even said it in public, "Puppy, don't scowl at people," "Puppy grab that box please," "Puppy we really need to go out more."

So, he just indulged her. She wanted to call him "Puppy", well, that was fine. She kept her word and never did when they met his co-workers and friends.

And so, term of endearment remained a secret between them. And everything was fine. Smooth sailing even.

Until it happened.

It was his monthly get together with Bronn and Jaime and it was his turn to host. Sansa had been a complete sweetheart and made them a beer cheese soup, sandwiches and seasoned potatoes. And Bronn and Jaime as per tradition dictated, they would bring the drinks.

They were setting their video games when Sansa said it.

"Puppy, can you get the sandwiches?"

Sandor froze. And so did Sansa. Bronn chocked on his beer. Fucking Jaime looked like Christmas, his birthday, his greatest wish had come true and his wedding anniversary had come early.

Sansa looked positively horrified, "Oh. Oh my Gods Sandor, I am _sorry_... I, it's slipped!"

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Jaime lost it. Bronn began to chuckle and Sandor just groaned and rested his head on the wall. Hoping the earth would open and swallow him whole.

And then the sound of a 'whack', followed by a hurt, "But Sansa, why?!"

Sandor turned quickly, and there in all her angry glory (as angry as Sansa could get anyway), was Sansa holding one of those photography books she treasure after smacking Jaime's head. Bronn bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"Do. Not. _Dare_. Jaime. You hear me?! Do not _dare_ of making fun of Sandor. Don't think I don't know how Brienne calls you."

Jaime, the bloody bastard gave her a cocky grin, "Oh, and how does she call me miss Stark."

Sansa's eyes narrowed and a corner of her lips turned upwards, "Golden Kitty Cat."

Bronn who had chosen that very moment to take another sip of his beer, choked again. Jaime's grin fell. Sansa then turned to Bronn, wielding her book like a weapon, "And _you_ mister, don't you dare laugh, Margaery has told me."

Bronn put his beer down and raised his hands in surrender, "Wouldn't dream of it Sansa."

Sansa lifted her chin, "Good, that's what I wanted to hear. And the Gods help you if you tease Sandor and I find about it. Because I _will_ know," then Sansa turned to him. "Love, I will be in our room. Food's ready and warm so you boys can eat. Have a good game night!"

And with that, Sansa left them alone.

They ate in silence, they played in silence. Only occasionally yelling at the game. After it was over and Bronn and Jaime had left, Sandor cleaned what they had dirtied up and went to bed. Sansa was still awake and reading when he did.

Once in bed, Sansa put her book down and cuddled to him, "Sorry," she spoke, her voice muffled by his chest. "It honestly slipped out."

He sighed, "I know Little Bird, mistakes happen. I'm not angry."

"Good, I don't want you to be angry."

"I can never be angry at you," he told her. "Annoyed? Maybe. Angry? No. But if you feel like making it up to me... there's something you could do."

"And what is that?"

"You could tell me what does Margy call Bronn."

Sansa snorted, "It's 'Beet-man', she says, and I quote, 'not everyone likes beets, but I do'."

Sandor snorted, "Trust Margy to come up with that," he yawned. "Let's sleep now Little Bird."

Sansa turned to to turn off her lamp and once she did, she cuddled back to him, "Good night, Puppy."

"Good night love."


End file.
